


Little Trip to Heaven (In the Depths of Your Throat)

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, M/M, Neckties and The Many Uses Thereof, Porn with Feelings, Reunion Sex, Undercover Flirting, banter as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-18 22:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10626318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Poe and Finn reunite to finish off a mission.They've missed each othera lot.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiokra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/gifts).



> Thanks very much to L. for brainstorming and betaing.
> 
> Title a terrible riff on the [Tom Waits song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LG9Ri41k8wM).

No one visits Gtibnoy for fun. It's not a bad place, all things considered, but it's out of the way, without a single nearby hyperlane. Its climate is predictable, but all that means is that it's always gloomy, a little too chilly for humanoids but too close and humid for the heavier-pelted. Half its surface is forested in enormous fungal arrays. The other half consists of a meta-archipelago, chains of rocky island chains tangled upon each other. Most are uninhabited, difficult to visit due to both riptides and high levels of toxins.

So if you are visiting Gtibnoy, you're probably coming to the port settlement, just at the edge of the fungal forests. Both the gtib refineries and administrative offices cluster here around the port. The amenities are scant: one bar, a single music hall more often given over to corporate training exercises, and two restaurants that are no more than auto-cafeterias. 

Every structure is of a piece, smooth extruded dura-metals with easily sealed viewports should the sea rise or forest release spore clouds.

It should go without saying that if you're here, you're on business.

So why is this guy -- a Republic auditor, judging by his crisp civil service uniform -- trying not to beam as he makes his way to the bar? He's smooth-cheeked, handsome as anything, fighting equally hard to wipe a dazzling smile from his face as he is to control his pace and not break into a run.

The inside of the bar is bright. The sleek walls are burnished fairly reflective, so the small crowd seems larger, haunted by their own shadows. They are conducting business, or drinking alone, killing time before they have to be in a meeting or on shift or at the departure gate. No one notices the young man. His uniform matches, in spirit if not exact tone, their own clothing.

He pauses at the entrance, looking around. His gazes slides over the bar itself, its droid cleaner and the human bartender testing a carbonation jet. The bartender is dressed neatly, snug shirt and long necktie, apron around his waist. The visitor's gaze returns to the bartender, lingers, before he tips up his chin fractionally and closes the distance.

He takes a seat where the bar melts into the wall.

The droid trundles over, scans his credit worthiness, and beeps approvingly. 

Only then does the human bartender amble over, sleepy eyes and sweet smile. "Get you anything, stranger?"

Finn rolls back his shoulders and straightens his already impeccable posture. "Yavin fizz, but only if you've got the goldfruit syrup."

The bartender nods and smoothes his necktie down his chest. Finn can't look away, for a moment, from his hand. "Of course. We might be a backwater, but this ain't _Tattooine_."

"Thanks," Finn says. While he waits, he unfolds a datapad and pretends to focus on it. He is, however, checking out first the bartender -- turned away now to mix the goldfruit with epiphyte spirits and add quick jets of bubbles, the ties on his apron cris-crossing his ass and setting it in exquisite relief -- and then the population of the bar itself, reflected on the wall.

"Here you go. One Yavin fizz, heavy on the goldfruit, just like mama used to swill." The bartender sets down a softly gurgling vial, his necktie flipped back over his shoulder, out of the way. "You want to start a tab, or...?"

Finn smiles as he swallows his first sip. Goldfruit's tropical, brightly sweet buzz bursts across his tongue. "Oh, that's excellent." The bartender grins at that, then ducks his head. "A tab? Don't think I'll be here that long."

"Suit yourself, beancounter." The bartender doesn't so much move away as appear to, wiping down an invisible spot with his rag. He isn't quite smiling, but a dimple does deepen in his cheek.

"Beancounter, huh?"

Bartender ticks his dark, _promising_ gaze back over Finn's way. "That's what you are, aren't you? Government auditor, here to count the beans, then count them again. Get up in everyone's business."

When they set up this mission, Poe and Finn agreed that Poe was suited to what the Order called SENTINT, eliciting intelligence from sentients directly and casually through a variety of methods of contact. Finn, on the other hand, would -- with a little study -- take the role of government mole. He excels at counting populations and observing patterns, discovering weak points, targeting and exploiting uncertainties; Poe prefers to get messy in the middle of a thronging crowd.

"You talk like this to all your customers?" Finn asks, pretending offense. "Belittle their vocations?"

"Nah," Poe replies, slapping the towel from hand to hand. "Just the interesting ones. The ones who can take it."

"Ah, I see." Finn sips his fizz, warming a bit. "I'll take the compliment, then."

Each reaction is doubled: first, there's the authentic response to whatever it is Poe says, then the second, echoing one, has to accord with the act, with who he is pretending to be. 

Flirting with Poe is intense enough. This is dizzying.

Poe nods, even winks. "Do, please."

Poe is here planetside to observe the refineries, see what he can get on where the surplus gtib granules are being redirected, who's profiting, who's easing the way. Finn has been a member of a civic fact-finding mission reporting to the Republic on alternatives to gtib propulsion.

"Business or pleasure?" Poe asks when he returns from serving up a quarter-keg of cheap ale to a lone Wookiee. He untucks his tie from his shirt front and wipes sweat from his forehead.

Finn checks out the small crowd gathering at one of the far tables. "Hmm? Oh. A little of both, if I'm lucky."

It's difficult to keep up this pretense. All he wants to do is grab Poe, embrace him, pull him horizontal for a good two or three days. Failing that, just _talk_ to him, catch up, actually communicate.

Instead, this is a different sort of flirtation than their usual. Half-obscured by the mission roles, their connection is emerging all over again. Their proximity, after five standard weeks apart, makes them both ache. It sharpens the flirtation, makes each flippant, throwaway comment weightier. Chancier, too.

"Don't think you need _luck_ , friend," Poe says. "Looking like you do, should be a question of whose luck _you_ make come true."

"Huh," Finn replies, forcing himself to look away. "Well, you'd be surprised."

"Would I?" Poe leans over, chin in hand, slight smile and bright eyes. He's so close that Finn can almost -- _almost_ \-- smell him. Definitely close enough to see the small asymmetrical wrinkle between Poe's brows, the one stubbornly errant curl over his right ear. So close, never close enough. "Try me."

Finn has to lean back slightly. "What about you?" 

"What about me?" Poe's smile broadens.

"Lonely outpost," Finn says, "must be difficult for a chatty guy like yourself..."

"Chatty?"

"Friendly." Finn adds, "sociable."

Poe grins. "Never knows when to shut up."

Finn raises his drink. "That, too, yeah."

They regard each other for half a moment. It's like foreplay, honestly, these glancing comments, half-truths, faint suggestions and nebulous references, all tease, all build-up.

Poe rubs the back of his neck. "Eh, well..."

"Lonely?" Finn asks.

Poe's standing perpendicular to Finn's seat now, hip against the bar, so he can keep an eye on the room. He glances over. "You could say that."

Finn pulls a sympathetic face. "Missing home, huh?"

"Well..." Poe looks away, squinting at nothing in particular, then right back at Finn. "Home's not a place, not for me. More a person."

"Ah." Finn hides his face for a moment, draining his fizz, long enough to compose himself.

"Home's a soul," Poe continues, rolling over to lean on his folded arms and stare intently at Finn. "Not --"

"Territory?" Finn asks. "Coordinates."

"Yeah," Poe says, his head bobbing as he nods.

"Missing them, then?" 

Poe fingers his tie. "More than anything. Like I lost an arm."

After a moment, hands resting on his knees, Finn has to grip them hard as he says, "So pretty."

Poe tilts his head and bats his lashes. "You think?"

"Your words, man," Finn says and snorts. "Your _words_ are pretty."

Poe's head fall like his neck's been snapped. "...oh."

"Are you pouting?"

His voice is muffled. "A little."

"Aw --" Finn starts to say.

"Keshian, about to leave," Poe says softly, all trace of flirtatious pouting vanished. "Red cape. Gtib chemist, likeliest smuggler."

"On it," Finn replies, pretending to leave as leisurely as he can. 

"Need anything?"

Finn touches the blaster on his hip. "All set. Be right back."

He isn't. The Keshian meets up with the Wookiee, and together they stroll out of the district into the fungal forest. Finn follows, as the night thickens around him, until he can't see, but can smell the gtib on the air.

They surprise him; he drops the Wookiee with a shot to one leg, but the Keshian doubles back toward the settlement. Finn gives chase, disoriented in the dark, splashes off the narrow beach into the sea.

The settlement is closed up tight, only security lights sprinkled along the tops. He can't find the Keshian; he has to get out of the water. He trips, keeps going, then freezes when he hears a blaster shot.

Not _at_ him, thankfully. It streaks past his vision, picks out the Keshian dancing out of the way.

"You okay?" Poe calls.

"Yeah," Finn yells back, following the sound of his voice. "You missed him."

"Yeah, fuckers can see perfectly. Fuckers!"

"Gotta try, right?"

"Yeah," Poe says, brushing rocks and debris off Finn. "Pop always did say I was a trial."

They laugh, a little, chokingly, as they catch their breath. Poe's bent over, hands on his knees, wheezing slightly, and Finn bangs him on the back a couple times.

The adrenaline of the chase churns through all the tension they'd both been feeling back at the bar.

"Hold that thought," Finn says.

He eases around, blaster in hand, safety off. The Keshian is barely visible against the sea, but close enough that Finn can take the shot confidently.

"Don't --" _Kill him_ , Poe was going to say.

"I'm not," Finn replies. 

He gets the shoulder, then the opposite leg. The Keshian howls as he crumples to the sand.

He checks the Keshian over, finds him gasping and unable to do more than kick and curse. "Oh, shush. We need you alive, you're barely bleeding, probably won't even scar. Much."

He bandages the guy, gags him, and drags him back to where Poe's waiting and shaking his head.

"You're amazing, damn." 

Finn rolls his eyes. "I think he passed out."

"Good." Poe moves closer, hand slipping over Finn's waist. "I want to be alone."

He smells good, still hot from the chase, and Finn gets a full-body shiver, a memory that fits his own skin, of what Poe feels like under his clothes.

The Keshian moans.

"This guy --" Finn says. "What do we do with him?"

Poe sighs, deeply, almost despondently. "I have a hideout."

"You have a what?"

Poe's grin is slanted and abashed. "A hideout."

"Like a _fort_?"

He shrugs. "Sort of, actually. Up in the mushrooms, there's a lean-to, I've been hiding data and shit up there."

"Can we leave him there?"

Poe's face is tragically downcast. "I was hoping _we_ could use it, but --"

"Would you rather fuck in front of the Keshian?"

Poe grins at that. "Sweet, are we going to...?"

"Poe," Finn says. "Stay --"

"-- on topic, right. Yeah, we can leave him there." He heaves another sigh. "BB can watch him."

"BB's here?" Finn grabs the Keshian and puts him over his shoulder. "Let's go!"

Poe trails him up the path, directing him gently this way and that. At the lean-to, they tie the Keshian up more firmly and give BB-8 permission to interrogate him should he wake up.

After a few paces back toward the settlement, Poe doubles back to remind BB-8 of the Corellian Conventions; Finn hangs off him, mentioning some newer developments among Resistance jurists and theorists.

BB complains; they argue; the three finally come to a compromise that BB will cleave to the Conventions but can ride home in the cockpit with Poe, _not_ as the baggage he arrived here disguised in.

They catch each other up on their parallel investigations, until, back at the sealed walls, they've reached the present moment.

Finn shakes Poe by the shoulder. "Did you even _aim_?"

"Had to fuck it up at some point, right?" Poe asks as he straightens up. He's grinning, however. " _Fuck_."

"It'll be all right," Finn tells him. 

"Everything was going way too well," Poe says. "Can't have an error-free mission, not me."

"It'll be fine."

Poe's brow jumps, and he opens his mouth to argue, but then all he does is sigh and tilt against Finn's side. 

"Where's the gate?" Finn asks.

"The what?"

Finn's arm goes around Poe's shoulders. "The gate. How do we get back in?"

"Oh," Poe says. "We don't. Curfew."

"You're kidding."

"No, sir. Hence the hideout."

"Man, _Poe_."

Poe shrugs, grinning, and slumps against the wall.

As their breathing slows and their sweat goes tacky, they regard each other. Wide-eyed, only blinking when absolutely necessary.

"Your nice uniform --" Poe starts, reaching over to brush some sand off Finn's shoulder. Finn grabs his wrist and pulls him the rest of the way.

"Come here," Finn adds, probably unnecessarily.

Poe presses against him, chest to groin, their legs already shuffling to make room for each other. He wraps Poe's tie around his hand and tugs. Poe's head tips back, his throat exposed. 

Finn kisses him, hard, tightening his hold on the tie. Poe mumbles excitedly, subverbally (his tongue's pretty busy with better priorities than language), clutching at the broad lapels on Finn's jacket. 

"Missed you," Finn murmurs, mouth against Poe's ear, teeth grazing the tender skin at his jaw. "Missed you so much."

"Yeah," Poe says, pulse thundering, heat spilling quick just under his skin. "Fuck, yeah."

They're close, _finally_ , touching, pushing and wrestling to get that much closer.

Poe tries to work at Finn's fly one-handed. But he's got the wrong angle, or the Republic has changed the specs on uniforms since he last groped at one, or maybe he's just so turned on that he's lost fine motor control. All he can seem to do is paw at Finn's erection through the fabric. "Fuck, are you _locked_ in here?"

Finn lifts one eyebrow and tests his hold on the tie. "What do you think?"

Poe shakes his head. "I don't know! It's been awhile! Maybe this is your new thing? Some sort of frustration kink?"

Finn's smirk spreads slow and knowing. "C'mere."

"I'm right here! In fact, my man, I am _trying_ to get _more_ here, but --" Poe throws up both hands. "What the _fuck_?"

Finn gives a little jerk on Poe's tie, more a sketch of force than anything else, but Poe flows into it, lands right up against Finn again. His face is flushed, deeply so, unmistakably, even in the dim light.

Finn kisses him again, far more gently. He sucks shallowly on Poe's lips and the tip of his tongue until Poe gasps and throbs, face smeared with spit. He bumps blindly against Finn, asking for more, offering even more. The tie is a shade too tight, quickening his breath, making it hard to get quite enough air.

"Babe --" Poe starts and can't finish.

"Here," Finn says softly, shifting aside, and lets the tie run loose over his palm. 

Poe drops with the tie, hands sliding down Finn's torso, to his thighs. Finn has taken his dick out, and with his free hand, he's touching himself, offering the head to Poe.

"Fuck," Poe gets out, his mouth hanging open. Just like that, they're back in synch, the tie hauling him slightly up, his fingers closing in the loose fabric of Finn's trousers, his tongue meeting cockhead, slit, the soft pads of Finn's fingers.

Finn traces the outline of Poe's mouth, then the bump of his chin, the sharp edge of his jaw, as Poe pushes forward. His mouth is hot, tongue already seeking. His eyes wheel as he glances up. If he pulls back, leaves just the very tip between his lips, Finn can yank the tie, pull Poe back down. Air whistles through Poe's nose, never enough, but Finn tastes better, if that's possible, than he ever has. Sweet and heavy, clean and _full_ , so big, so ready for Poe. The corners of Poe's mouth are already burning, aching, and this is just the beginning.

"Poe," Finn says, a little hunched over, loath to look away. " _Oh_ , man --"

Poe leans back, dragging his tongue down the underside of Finn's shaft, sticky and slow, just to get the quick jerk on the tie that pulls him in. The next time he pulls away, Finn grunts, already hauling him forward before Poe's mouth can break free. 

Poe grasps Finn's hip with one hand and cups Finn's balls with the other. Finn curses, dropping his stance, ass lifting from the wall, as Poe pushes all the way down, swallowing, willing himself open. Finn's second grunt breaks into a long sigh that shudders and stretches apart. Sweat's in his eyes, stinging, and his hand's a little numb in the tie. Poe's heavy lids are starting to drift closed as his throat works, but then, as Finn holds back a thrust, Poe's eyes fly open.

Poe makes a half-choked, half-urgent moan, nails in Finn's side, over his balls, so Finn goes for it. He rolls his hips and thrusts, and Poe takes it, moans for more, bends his head further back. Red lips around Finn's dark shaft, glittering eyes through his thick lashes, hollowing cheeks and throat tightening, bobbing, _swallowing_.

"Poe, fuck, I --" Finn's free hand twists in the back of Poe's hair. "Sorry, sorry --"

Poe tries to shake his head, tries to tell him it's okay, but his mouth is stuffed. He's gagging for more. Breath is rare, fleeting, more dizzying than anything.

It's hard to give Finn anything -- though he deserves everything, more than that, all of it -- but Poe can easily give him this, lose his own breath and take Finn down, drown in his pleasure, keep going, keep trying.

"I need to --" Finn tries again.

Poe gulps, slaps Finn's hip, holds still. His tongue burns, his jaw cracks, as Finn pulls the tie one way, Poe's hair the other and fucks Poe's mouth fast and deep. Finn's groan is rising higher, his cock wearing a groove down Poe's tongue before popping in, out, back and deeper in, to Poe's clutching throat.

"Touch yourself," Finn says, his voice rough, churned up, his grasp hitching in Poe's hair. "Wanna see you, need to do it together."

Fast as he can, Poe complies. His cock all but leaps into his grip. He slicks it with spit, with Finn's streaming pre-cum. They're pushing-pulling together now, Poe jerking himself desperately, letting Finn use his mouth and throat, Finn grinding in, bottoming out, balls mashed flat against Poe's chin.

They've locked eyes. Wheezing, gasping, in tandem, chasing the pleasure, holding on to each other. The muscles in Finn's thighs jump and bunch, his hips pump frantically, and Poe swallows as he comes all over his own hand. Finn's voice is saying his name and his head is swimming, logic gone fluid and needy so for several long moments, it makes perfect sense that Finn came inside him, spilled down his throat, and then surged right back out Poe's own cock. 

"Hey," Finn says, hardly above a whisper, hand gentling on Poe's hair. He slides down the wall, heedless of the uniform, and cups Poe's face. His thumbs stroke Poe's upper lip, clean him off, then simply frame his mouth.

Finn kisses him, pulling Poe closer, then rests his forehead in the curve of Poe's neck.

"Missed you," Poe whispers. The words feel like a secret, something precious. He mouths the top of Finn's ear. "So much."

"Home now," Finn replies, embrace tightening.


End file.
